Sherlock: Words Left Unsaid 7
by MissSherlockHieiHolmes
Summary: Okay, so this took a little longer than expected, but not as long as it took last time . After going through all of the chapters I've plotted out, I think that this fic will actually be around 15 chapters. Originally chapter six was supposed to be chapter 8 and there were a few BS chapters that I decided to just leave out. Again, sorry for the wait, but here it is! :3 Enjoy


Once Mycroft and I landed, I wanted to get straight to work with the research I needed to complete to pinpoint what region of the world John would be located in. At the very least, the road salt on the bit of ripped fabric I found in the bunker should lead me to the right country but I was hoping to go a bit deeper. Searching an entire country, no matter how small, would take ages, even for me. For all I knew, it could take time that I truly did not have. I already wasted too much time with waiting to go to Afghanistan. However in my defense, it took a lot to convince Mycroft to make the arrangements. I had asked multiple times before I finally convinced him to allow me to drop into a war zone. Normally I wouldn't have waited for his permission, but I needed his connections to get there.

And people always think I'm joking when I say his name literally opens doors.

Anyway, as I was saying, I wanted to go straight to the lab to get started because every minute that ticked by was potentially another minute that John could be killed or on the verge of death—if he was even still alive. Mycroft had made it a very important detail to get into my head, that he might be gone already and that perhaps I wouldn't be able to save him this time. After all of the messes I had to pull John out of, it would be devastating to find out that I couldn't do it this time.

Mycroft, however, didn't like the idea of me running off to the lab (which was probably closed by now) in the middle of the night to start working after spending so long in a war zone. To someone who was almost as observant as me, it was easy to tell that while my skin was darker from the sun in the foreign country, it was obvious that I dropped several pounds. My eating and health habits were even worse while I was in "active duty" and I wasn't exactly at my peak.

Being the annoying older brother that he was, Mycroft forced me to stay with him at his obnoxiously large flat. The flat was three times the size of 221B and was decorated to the nines with crown moldings, expensive custom tufted furniture and hand carved tables, beds and chair legs. Honestly I failed to see my brother's logic in his decorating sense. Sure, as someone in the public eye, someone who needed to make a good impression, it was important to carry that image to all aspects of his life, but he didn't live in the bloody Buckingham Palace and what kind of single man needed that much space?

I showered and managed to get a few hours of sleep just because my body desperately needed them and before I left in the morning, Mycroft forced a too-large breakfast down my throat. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for my older brother because always overate when no one was around to stop him. That was one of the many reasons that he had a hard time with his weight, but I just didn't have the energy to do all of the work I needed to do and fight with him, so I ate what I could.

"I really think you should finish the rest of your breakfast, Sherly, you have about twenty pounds to gain back," he commented as I grabbed my bag. He handed me a travel mug filled with black coffee sugared to the appropriate proportions. He didn't necessarily believe that I should be working so soon because he felt I still needed recuperation time, but I think he understood how badly I needed to get back to work. The longer this took me, the more danger John could potentially get into and the more I would begin to lose my marbles. Besides, research was mostly sitting around, looking through microscopes and webpages. It was mentally straining but physically it wasn't too difficult and let's face it, I didn't have a hard time with mental exercise. In fact, I probably needed it more than rest or food.

"Mycroft, I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern, but I have to get this done," I told him, taking the coffee because, again, it just wasn't in me to put up a huge fight with my brother today.

"I know, Sherly, I know… Once you've got your mind on something and your goals set, there's no stopping you. I know that, Lestrade knows that. Hell, the whole world probably knows that and only an idiot would try to stand in your way because you're a stubborn git," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. I wasn't the only one who lost weight over my brief tour in Afghanistan. Surprisingly enough, Mycroft had been so worried about me, that he wasn't eating properly either, but unlike me, Mycroft actually needed to lose the weight. It would be good for him if he could manage to keep it off. "Just… try not to get your hopes up, Sherlock. I'd hate to see your heart break even more if you have convinced yourself that he's still alive and you find that he's—"

"I know the possibilities, Mycroft, but I will not believe that's true until I have proof. John wouldn't give up on me if there was a chance that I was still alive and I won't give up on John," I told him as I walked to the door. Mycroft didn't understand my bond to John and I truly didn't believe that anyone knew what my connection with John was because I didn't believe anyone else possessed this time of bond. Something in me, no matter how illogical it sounded, told me that John was still amongst the living.

Thankfully Mycroft just dropped it with a light nod and allowed me to leave, requesting that if I did leave again, to tell him first. He wanted to keep tabs on me, as always, but I agreed because if something did happen to me, at least he would know where I was and could confirm, should it come to something so drastic, my death, not to say that I believed that would happen, but it was possible. Whoever took John was obviously dangerous and, if I had to make an educated guess without proof, I would put my money on Moriarty for obvious reasons, as I've stated several times already. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see the obvious facts to back up the hypothesis.

Getting a cab wasn't too difficult since Mycroft lived in such a prime location of London, but it was rather early despite my breakfast (I mean Mycroft) delay and it still took a solid ten minutes or so to catch a cabbie. Traffic wasn't terribly congested due to the rather early hour but we were driving straight through central London, so the trip was expected to be longer than usual.

I paid the cabbie and gave him a decent tip (it was Mycroft's money, why would I care where the money went?) once he pulled up to Bart's. I would be using the lab inside the hospital as always. Molly, the morgue specialist, had a soft spot for me so to speak and she would always allow me full access to whatever I needed. Next to John, she was probably the closest person to me and I trusted her more than most.

However I didn't really have much time to spare, so I kept the chitchat to a minimum when I saw her. She unlocked the lab for me and asked me how I was. I answered her with a rather typical "fine" but she had amazing abilities to read people, even if she could be socially awkward (yes, I know, I don't have room to talk). She knew that I wasn't fine; in fact, she knew that I wasn't even close to fine because I looked "sad" as she put it. I wasn't, exactly, sad, per say but she was on the right track. Mostly I felt guilty for not doing what I could to get to John sooner.

Eventually Molly took my silence as an invitation to leave me to my work, promising to bring me some more coffee and a light lunch later. We both knew I wouldn't touch the food since I didn't like to eat when I was working. Digestion slowed me down and I already felt like I was lagging thanks to the breakfast that Mycroft made me eat.

Mostly my research revolved around the swatch of fabric from what I assumed to be a coat with what I was sure was dried road salt stained on it. I had John's letter and his dog tags but those two items really didn't lead me to where John could have been taken. John wouldn't have known that, so there weren't any clues revolving around location in his possessions. What he left for me was more along the lines of who took him. The road salt was the only thing that could potentially lead me in the right direction. Depending on what components went into making the road salt (no, it wasn't all the same, there were many different approaches to creating road salt) could reveal what region of the world it came from.

It was quite sloppy work, if you asked me. If you were going to pose as an army soldier in Afghanistan to get to another soldier, you should probably wash the coat you brought with you to make sure traces like this weren't detectible. Then again, perhaps it was left on purpose. There was always a chance that the culprits were leading me in the right direction. Walking right into a trap was a very real responsibility that, normally, I wouldn't rush into but this was for John. I didn't have much of an option.

With the use of the high-powered telescope that was one of my absolute favorite tools to work with, breaking down the components of the road salt was a rather simple process. It was obvious from the first glance that the road salt was a less harmful, more environmentally friendly substitute and not the basic and cheapest types of salt. This particular blend contained a very minimal amount of chlorides and corrosive compounds, which are typical ingredients when making road salt. These ingredients allowed for the salt to stand up against snow and ice and effectively broke them both down so vehicles could drive over roadways safely in the winter.

However both of these standards elements are quite harmful to the environment. Once winter ends, these materials are still left behind and the corrosive effects of the road salt, quite literally, destroy anything it comes in contact with. It does some very serious harm to the roadways themselves but the damage is particularly bad when these compounds mix into running water and carried to various environments.

Due to these aspects, many people have started using safer products for the environment. Some are just lighter blends of the classic concept of road salt, others have completely switched to other materials such as calcium magnesium acetate, which is safe for plants and wildlife and doesn't damage manmade structures like roads themselves. Other people try to use home products on and around their own properties but they hardly worked. Generally town committees (or whatever group of people happened to make the decisions in each area of the world that got cold and icy) always turned back to classic road salt to ensure the safety of people above the Earth.

There were countries around the world that insisted on being as environmentally friendly as they possibly could be, however and once I was able to jot down the factors of this particular blend and mathematically estimate the ratio of each, it only took a short internet search to come up with a match.

Only one company produced this road salt and it originated in Switzerland. It was sold domestically and that was enough of a lead for me.


End file.
